


Through Cracks

by merulanoir



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Ownership, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: “My dearest.” The Outsider leans closer, and Corvo sucks in a breath. “You are as life has made you, and thus perfect.”
Relationships: Corvo Attano/The Outsider (Dishonored)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 233





	Through Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Does exactly what it says on the tin. Unbeta'ed because I'm an impatient bitch like that.
> 
> I've been writing a softer longfic, but my mind is full of nasty things so here you go I guess.

Corvo knows the Outsider watches his dreams. The Leviathan doesn’t always show himself, but Corvo can feel him there, hovering at the edge of his senses; a cold note that doesn’t quite fit into the soundscape, or a touch at the back of his neck that’s gone before he can recognize the fingerprints.

Corvo doesn’t know if the Outsider watches his nightmares. There are so many of those lately, and the Loyalists leave him alone enough that no one hears how often he wakes up shouting, with sheets tangled around him and soaked with terror-sweat. He never falls back to sleep after he wakes up, because there are only so many ways Corvo can convince himself he is no longer in Coldridge.

_He is young again, and he watches Beatrici leave; he is nineteen and sent to Dunwall, all alone; he is twenty-four, and almost misses the assassin hiding in the ballroom; he is twenty-nine and not quick enough to catch Jessamine when she stumbles over a threshold._

_He is thirty-nine, and he can’t save her._

The gazebo starts to crumble and Corvo struggles to shield Jessamine and Emily, but there are so many assassins. They bleed into the air like wisps of smoke from a fire Corvo can’t find, and their blades cut right through him; they’re not here for Corvo, their target is the empress. Corvo is stuck, tethered in place by some kind of magic, and he watches as the assassin in a red coat approaches.

The assassin’s steps are slow, winding and rewinding until Corvo is dizzy from trying to see where he truly is. He is frozen in stone, and even when he tries to shout a warning no sounds come. Jessamine’s scream is frozen in the air, like so many needles that hurt him every time he tries to move.

Something stirs at the fraying edge of Corvo’s sanity. The assassin is just about to plunge his long knife into Jessamine’s gut, when that dark something engulfs the scene. Corvo tries to shout, but even as he realizes he can move again he can’t _do_ anything; the nightmare is gone and there is just darkness in its place.

His heart takes a long while to calm down. Everything retains the haze of dream, but Corvo is now aware he is dreaming. He is not in the Void, but the presence of its fickle god is unmistakable.

“This won’t do.”

The Outsider looks at Corvo with his tar-sticky eyes. Corvo doesn’t startle, because this is just a dream; if the Leviathan wants to appear at will, it’s just par for the course. 

The darkness withdraws as the Outsider walks closer. Corvo knows by now his feet don’t actually touch the ground. 

“Your mind is breaking. There is a crack, and the nightmare is bleeding through.”

Corvo just nods. His head sways a little as he does, and he closes his eyes. Even in the dream he is tired. Loose, cast adrift, redundant.

“You’re not,” the Outsider scolds him, almost gently. Corvo can hear he is smiling. “You carry my mark now, Corvo.”

“Still,” Corvo says without meaning to, “I used to belong somewhere. Now I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes. He is so weary. He wants to forget, sleep, rest forever.

Cold fingers slide over his cheekbone. Corvo stiffens as they keep going and bury themselves in his hair. The Outsider smells like the sea. Corvo breathes it in, and there is an unmistakable tang of salt clinging to his tongue as he does.

Corvo can feel the god: almost close enough to touch him, lithe and impossibly strong. There is a feeling like waves tugging at his feet.

“Wrong again,” the Outsider whispers. Corvo’s eyes open without his say-so, and the god smiles. “You belong to me.”

Corvo shakes his head numbly. He doesn’t want to belong to the Void or its keeper, because that is the equivalent of throwing himself into the ocean and hoping for it to notice.

The Outsider’s fingers comb through his hair. This close Corvo can see a scar stretching across his throat; a puckered line marching across the pale flesh. He opens his mouth to say something about it, but the Outsider presses closer.

“You belong to me,” he whispers into Corvo’s mouth. “You have been mine ever since you cried into the surf after your sister left. You came to me when they sent you away from Karnaca; you shed lonely tears over the ship railing, and the sea brought them to me. I still have every single one of them.

“You have been mine before you were anyone else’s, and you will still be mine when there is naught but a ghost of you left.”

“No,” Corvo mumbles. His head is swimming, and the Outsider’s eyes are so dark. They drag him under the surface, until he is so deep no light penetrates the darkness.

The Outsider kisses him, so slow it’s almost like a tide coming in. His lips are cool and soft, and before Corvo knows it he is kissing back. He doesn’t mean to, but it feels like he is drowning. If he keeps fighting he will never swim back to the surface.

“Good,” the Outsider whispers, bubbles rippling over Corvo’s face. “Let go.”

The dream shifts around him. The Outsider kisses him for an eon; kingdoms rise and fall as he learns Corvo’s mouth, steals every breath Corvo sucks in and stutters out, and at some point Corvo’s body starts to burn. He can feel himself grow hard, and it’s futile to try to hide it.

He doesn’t want to throw himself into the ocean, but he knows the Outsider is right; the sea has been Corvo’s solace and comfort through the years. He sought it out whenever the world was too cruel, too overwhelming. He has poured his grief into the jewel-bright waters of Karnaca and the polluted riptide of Dunwall alike. The ocean is none the wiser with Corvo’s sorrows mixing into it, but the act binds them together.

“Yes,” the Outsider says. He finally pulls back as he pushes Corvo down, straddling his hips like settling atop something conquered. He takes a moment to look at Corvo, who feels a surprisingly mundane brush of self-consciousness at the scrutiny; his body spent six months in Coldridge. Badly healed scars have claimed the spaces that were once reserved for unmarred skin and gentler touches.

The Outsider laughs. He throws his head back and _laughs,_ and Corvo watches him, mesmerized. The scar is white against his pale skin. As Corvo’s gaze slips lower, the familiar clothes fade away and leave only an expanse of smooth skin. In comparison Corvo's hands, now holding on to the sharp angles of hip bones, are clearly human and flawed.

“My dearest.” The Outsider leans closer, and Corvo sucks in a breath. “You are as life has made you, and thus perfect.” The god presses against his chest, and Corvo aches with how much he wants to yield. He wants to believe the words, he wants to throw away the crawling, rotting terror and hand himself over.

The Outsider’s mouth is on his again, and this time Corvo kisses back without fighting against it. He runs his faulty hands up until they bury into black hair and then holds on, rocking upwards. 

He doesn’t want to look. Corvo doesn’t need to see what is touching him, because the Outsider is many things but human is definitely not one of those. Corvo’s cock is hard and aching, and he ruts upwards to catch it against something, trying to create any kind of friction. 

“So impatient,” the Outsider murmurs. He bites Corvo’s bottom lip and rocks his hips. Corvo closes his eyes and keens as something slippery runs over his thigh, entirely real and defying anything his mind is prepared to believe. The feeling recedes, but only for a second. Before Corvo can do more than open his mouth in protest, the Outsider smiles and seizes his thighs.

The grip is hard enough to bruise, and when Corvo finally cranes his head up he sees something ink-black wrapping itself around his thighs, his calves, forcing him open and vulnerable.

The Outsider’s smile widens as he drinks in the fear in Corvo’s expression.

“I am infinitely older and stranger than you could ever imagine, my dear.” His voice is like the hiss of waves against sand, and no matter how much Corvo struggles, the tentacles keep their hold. He can’t see where they are coming from, not with the Outsider still pressed so agonizingly close to him. He commands Corvo’s attention, even as fear tries to claw itself to the foreground.

“You are mine,” the god says. On cue, there is more slithering movement between Corvo’s legs, and he whimpers with horror and awful need as they wrap around his erection and press against the vulnerable flesh under it. He should be going soft, but the adrenaline is only winding him up tighter. Corvo screws his eyes shut as the tentacle around his cock starts to move; shame and need coil inside him and they burn too hot.

The Outsider grips his chin and kisses him again. Corvo sputters against it, but when a slick something pushes into him he gives a shocked moan which the god drinks up with a dark laugh. Corvo tries to struggle, force his legs closed, but the thing inside slides deeper, grows thicker, and at some point it, too, starts to move. His head lolls back as pleasure starts creeping up and down his spine. 

It’s mortifying. It feels too good. Shame clogs Corvo’s throat, and he is thankful for it, because otherwise he would be moaning and gasping. The tentacle keeps fucking him, growing thick enough to burn. It fills him perfectly. The one caressing his cock is slick with _something_ and moves agonizingly slow, as if trying to understand every twitch and shudder. 

And all the while the Outsider presses against him, his breaths coming quicker and his gaze growing hungry. Corvo struggles against the grip and tries to turn his head away, but the god holds him in place and forces him to meet his gaze.

“You will stop struggling,” the Outsider murmurs when the tentacles wring an exceptionally loud groan from Corvo. “In the end, you will give yourself over. You will even enjoy it.”

Corvo can see more blackness stirring around him. They slide over his skin, touching every scar and burn. He moans when the Outsider thrusts still deeper into him, and only when he tosses his head back does he realize it’s a mistake. A tentacle slides over his throat and locks his head in place. If he tries to move, he can’t breathe, so he is forced to lie there, wrists pinned to whatever is underneath them. The Outsider holds him down with such ease, and Corvo sees his thrashing only amuses the god. 

“So beautiful,” the Outsider says. His hips move like both of them have all the time ever created, forcing Corvo sloppy and open. “You have been perfect from the day you were born, but after you broke you became unique.” His voice grows hushed towards the end, and Corvo hears something like reverence in it.

He can feel the heat as it crawls up his neck. Corvo closes his eyes, because he can’t bear the praise. Not like this, flayed open and hating that he needs and wants this. He wants to give up control and throw himself into the abyss that surrounds him. The tentacle inside him gives a hard thrust, and he whimpers as he cants his hips up for better access. His body can’t tell the difference between danger and lust anymore, he is too far gone in both.

“Mine,” the Outsider hisses. Corvo is too slow to open his eyes before there is an insistent pressure against his lips. A tentacle pries them apart and slides into his mouth. It’s slippery and too strong, and Corvo manages only a muffled moan as his lips stretch around its girth. Deeper, deeper, until he gags; it pulls outwards only enough for him to draw in a breath before plunging in again.

“Let go.” The Outsider is no longer asking. Corvo looks at him, and now the smile has an edge, dark and menacing. The Outsider wants him, all of him, and Corvo’s will breaks.

He closes his eyes and his hips twitch. He is so close, his cock leaking precum that mixes into whatever the tentacles ooze. The Outsider thrusts harder, and Corvo cries out as pleasure slams into him. His voice muffles against the tentacle filling his mouth, and as he finally gives up the pretense and starts to suck on it, he hears a breathy moan.

The Outsider fucks him harder and deeper, and his cold tongue licks Corvo’s lips, touching the tentacle that slides in and out. Corvo’s hips move to meet the god thrust for thrust, mindless in his search for release. His mind is consumed by how filthy and perfect it is, the wet sounds and the scent of sea salt, the way the Outsider is whispering something in a language Corvo isn’t meant to understand.

“Give it to me,” the Outsider pants. The Leviathan is filling Corvo to the brim, and when Corvo opens his eyes he sees only black. “Give yourself to me.”

 _Yes,_ Corvo thinks deliriously. _Yes, take me. Take it all._

He gags around the tentacle as he starts to come, cock trapped in a slick, hard grip. His seed stands out in stark contrast against the black, writhing mess, and for some reason that feels more wrong than anything else. The Outsider yanks the tentacle out of his mouth and slams their mouths together, and Corvo moans and bucks up, up, up against him, until there is nothing separating them, until there is nothing left, until he is empty and used.

Corvo doesn’t register what happens in the aftermath. He is simultaneously hot and cold. Shivers race up and down his spine as he floats in a silence that makes his ears ring. His skin is slick with sweat and something else, but he doesn’t have any wish to see what; Corvo keeps his eyes firmly closed. Even when familiar cold fingers tilt his head up into yet another kiss he refuses to look.

The kiss is soft, almost gentle. The Outsider caresses his cheeks and lips, runs his fingers through Corvo’s hair, and Corvo doesn’t mean to kiss back but he does; there is nothing gentle left in the world, he is adrift in a dark ocean.

“Yes,” the Outsider murmurs. “And in the unfathomable deeps, I am always watching over you.”

He smiles into the kiss. “You are mine. You would have been mine even without giving yourself over like this, but now you carry my mark and know my touch. That is the only blessing I can give you, my dearest.”

The touch fades into dreamless sleep. There are no more nightmares.

*

Corvo wakes up slowly. Late afternoon sunlight filters into the attic room, the warped glass shattering the rays into a prism. He rolls over and closes his eyes again; his head is reluctant to wake up. He feels uncharacteristically rested.

_There was something… Something abyssal, and it should have scared him, but it didn’t, not in the end…_

Corvo shoots up from the bed so fast he almost trips over his own boots. His hands scrabble on the thin shirt and smallclothes as he rips them off, breath wheezing as his field of vision narrows down with panic.

His thighs are stained black and purple. They look like bruises, but when Corvo finally works up the courage to touch them, they don’t hurt. His mark tingles, and then his knees go liquid and he slumps onto the floor.

Dust floats in the silence. Corvo stares at the wall with unseeing eyes and his head is filled with horror and denial. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t have any strength to acknowledge what happened. He was having a nightmare, and then the Leviathan stepped into his dream. He broke the nightmare, and...

Rushing sounds fill his ears as his heart hammers in his chest. They are like waves, the tide is coming in. The weight of it all rests on him. He stays there for a long time, slumped against the bed and breaths filling the space with uncertainty. 

Corvo knows he has to choose. He can drown right here or keep swimming.

Finally he forces himself to move. Up from the floor, clothes on, down the stairs, into the sunlight. Don’t think. Don’t think. One foot in front of the other.

Samuel greets him by the workshop, and they smoke together. Neither of them feels like chatting. Corvo turns his face towards the sun and only closes his eyes when they water from how bright it is.

The nightmares stop after that day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://merulanoir.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/merulanoir) too! Come say hi!


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